The Tetris Phase
by justanotherbookaholic
Summary: Oneshot. Bamon fanfic taking place when they were in the other dimension. Bumming around time until 6x09. I couldn't stop thinking of Damon and Bonnie playing tetris together and figured I'd stretch out some much withering writing muscles.


_He fucking stuck the buttons._

Glowering at the controls, Bonnie tried tapping the leftmost button again, but it was pointless. That stupid black cross stayed stuck on the down key, only bringing her to her doom that much quicker. Mouth grimly set, Bonnie let her focus waver for a second to see how her opponent was faring.

His eyes were ice she imagined should have melted at the speed with which they were flying across the screen. Fingers blurred over the controls of his Gameboy, placing tiles in a chaotic mosaic that only he seemed able to decipher.

_Damn. _Damon was clearing lines at an alarming rate and his smirk indicated he could keep going for a while. Her composition was a mountain by comparison.

Bonnie pulled in breath and latched on the tiles of sepia with an intensity she generally reserved for serious spellwork. She could do this.

Her thumbs had to work double time to compensate for her disadvantage. Bonnie's gaze blurred into double ; she wasn't looking at each individual tile anymore. Bonnie saw the entire screen and how it fit together, mind going on autopilot.

Despite her efforts, the structure just too tall. Bonnie groaned at the beeping sounding from her console. She flopped down onto the couch and blinked blearily at the wooden beams on the ceiling.

Damon smiled at her defeated posture and rose. He started out on a chair but somehow migrated to the floor in front of her, back to the couch.

"That's Damon 11, Bonnie 1," Damon gloated on his way to yet another victory drink. "Should I get a scorecard?"

Bonnie stared blackly at the dark paneling. "You sabotaged me."

"I didn't want to be the one to break it to you," Damon began gravely. He looked at his glass, then shrugged and took the bottle, returning his place before her. "But you needed a fashion intervention. I know bitter is your favorite color, but it really doesn't suit you." God, how could a smile piss her off so much?

Bonnie sat up to face him. "My keypad was stuck. _You_ had this one last time."

She threw the console at him - somehow it ended up in his hands - and his smile grew wider. They both knew she was right. She bet fucking cheated during monopoly, too.

"How fragile is you ego that you're threatened by _one point_ when you had ten points on me?" Bonnie spat.

"Ego?" Damon echoed? "_I'm_ not the one who thinks she can get out of hell." He shook his head. "Who is that stubborn?" He asked his bourbon glass.

"This isn't hell, Damon," Bonnie said, suddenly tired. "Not Hades or purgatory or even Mystic Falls. This is just where we are until we get home."

Damon scoffed into his drink, but for some reason, Bonnie couldn't let it slide like she normally does. She grabbed his bottle as he was about to swig it back, dancing away from his hands.

Bonnie could feel the sharpness of alcohol, biting her nose and eyes with gleaming teeth. Already regretting it, Bonnie swung her head back and let the little piranhas shred and tear and rip their way down her throat.

By the time she was done, the swarm had lost half of it's amber members. The bourbon - how in God's name did Damon drink so much of this? - bypassed her empty stomach and went straight to her head.

"Nope," Bonnie concluded, eyes still watering. She could barely see Damon's raised eyebrow between the tears and how far it was to the moon.

"It's not the drinking that's making you such a Bitter Betsy." Bonnie thought her smile might have been a little too big. Shit. She'd need a lot more practice before she could even begin to compete with Damon.

Still, she smiled and leaned forward conspiratorially as if she a secret to share.

"Know what? We're going home." Bonnie whispered. "So don't pout." She rubbed the lines in between Damon's eyes until they smoothed under her.

Bonnie was so focused she didn't sense how close they were standing or how tense Damon seemed to be. Task done, she let her hand drop and Damon practically uncoiled.

"Don't," he started as he guided her back to the couch. Bonnie didn't put up a fight when he swiped the near-empty bottle from her hands.

"_Ever_ call me Betsy again, _Judgey._" But Damon said the nickname like a smile. Bonnie returned it. He casually tossed the afghan over Bonnie's body before settling down again by her feet, resting against the couch.

So Bonnie didn't see his face, almost didn't hear his murmur.

"We're not going home."

And for a second it took Bonnie's breath away. Cut him, bruised him, sliced him those words must have for him to have that much pain in his voice. His mouth should have been bloody with it.

Bonnie slowly layd down on the sofa, head level with Damon's. When he turned to face her she almost recoiled. He was too close, their heads less than a foot aprt. But it wasn't the space that bothered Bonnie; his pain was so near, so _present_ in his eyes. It was bleeding in to her. No, she didn't want to feel that.

The alcohol made it that much easier to close her eyes to his. But even through the haze of seventy-year-old bourbon, Bonnie could feel Damon's pain, sharp as a tack.

All Bonnie could think of was when she had last remembered feeling that much pain. Her addled brain spared her all the losses, all the heartache and death of the last couple years and brought her a sweeter memory: the night she lost Ms. Cuddles.

Bonnie couldn't stop sobbing. No matter how much she called and called, Ms. Cuddles didn't come back. Ms. Cuddles _always_ came back. She must've been lost, hurt, sick, and Bonnie _had_ to find her. Ms. Cuddles was her best friend - they were sisters, would eat _cauliflower_ for each other. And Bonnie _had_ to find her, _had_ to find her...

Just when Bonnie was about to call Elena to ask if she'd seen her, Grams had scooped her up, even though she was supposed to be too big for that. Grams held her as tight as if she was going to blow off into the wind otherwise. Her deep, soulful voice filled Bonnie's senses and soothed Bonnie's soul. That song was _safety_ for Bonnie.

_Damon could use a little safety right now,_ Bonnie thought.

And then suddenly Bonnie's hand was in Damon's hair, tangled in the softness, smoothing it back just has Grams had done for her. But this was different. She could feel it in Damon's eyes on her, though hers were still closed.

"You are my sunshine, my only sunshine," Bonnie sung the words, worn and soft as the blanket around her chest.

"You make me happy when skies are grey. You'll never know dear, how much I love you." Bonnie could feel sleep approaching, sure as sunrise. He voice was laced with it as she sighed the last line.

"Please don't take my sunshine away."

Bonnie lazily became aware that Damon's head had fallen onto her stomach. Instead of stiffness, all Bonnie could bring herself to do was relax against the solid weight. Her hands ended up cradling his head.

"The other night, dear, as I lay sleeping, I dreamt I held you in my arms. " Damon's voice was a low purr that vibrated across her body, sweeter than she thought possible, resonating in drowsy waves.

"When I awoke dear, I was mistaken. So I hung my head and I cried."

The smile on Bonnie's face was not a conscience decision that she made.

"You're a terrible singer."

"Ouch." Bonnie's eyes opened to see Damon's head facing her, wide smile showing he was not actually hurt. She quickly shut them. Now _that_ was a dangerous smile. "The kitty-cat has claws."

"Mmmm," Bonnie agreed, fingers still working through his hair. "But you already knew that, didn't you Damon?"

But before Damon could reply with an innuendo, Bonnie's muddled mind finally relented into sleep.

Damon forgot sometimes how _tiny_ Bonnie was. She was so strong, so _fierce_, so much more than the small body he was carrying to bed appeared. When the fight left her like this, Damon saw how much she took on herself, always for others. For him sometimes, too.

Damon felt his arms around her slightly, protective. _Idiot._ How many times had Bonnie brought him to his knees? And yet, why was it that she was always the one who ended up hurt?

Bonnie stirred in his arms. In a pure second of panic, Damon thought _his_ musings somehow woke her. Thank whatever it was that passed for a god that mind-reading wasn't a spell Bonnie could conjure. Yet.

"Damon."

Breathing wasn't something that Damon needed to do, but all at once he was _fighting_ for it. Damon looked at the offending mouth, full and quivering.

"Yes, Bonnie?"

"I'm never playing tetris with you again."


End file.
